Hatred is exhausting. Depression is too heavy. Why carry all that baggage with you? It’s all unnecessary. It weighs you down. Leave behind what you don’t need.

  1. My grandma cooked some homemade meals for a week for me because my mom couldn’t, because she was busy tending to my dad at the hospital.
  2. My best friend is almost about to become my roommate.
  3. My other roommate is becoming pretty awesome.
  4. It was an unexpectedly awesome experience bonding with my new classmates while working.
  5. Dad just got out of the hospital today.

The situation is still difficult, I admit. We’re almost totally broke thanks to hospital bills. Just last weekend, I was already having thoughts about how total non-existence (emphasis on non-existence; this is different from death) could be much more comfortable. This life is hard, but this day was pretty freaking awesome.

 

When I talk about Jesus, when I talk about God, what am I really pertaining to? I am at a point where I’m doubting what I believe in, because I feel like it doesn’t make sense anymore. I was just about to go to mass, but I was doing it out of routine, like a programmed robot. I am cynical about what I don’t believe in, because I don’t see that faith is what’s important here. Maybe the world may keep on giving you crap, but that doesn’t mean God doesn’t bless you anymore.

I absolutely don’t know why I manage to push people away, but I do.

Subconsciously, I always feel like I’m not worthy of their time and attention. When people start paying attention to me, especially to my views in life and principles, I feel beyond special, but also confused as to why they would want to know more about me. I feel like I will always bring them down, because I am in no state to commit myself to people. I always manage to disappoint people – by not fulfilling promises, by not turning up, by not being there – and I’ve always thought it was because my family needed me more, and that family should always come first.

In other words, I can’t really go to events when friends invite me. Most of the time, especially nowadays. My dad had a seizure again last Friday, and he just got back from the hospital with my mom, but they’re going to the hospital again tomorrow to have a PEG tube inserted. His pneumonia’s getting worse because his body can’t fight germs anymore. Plus, the tumor in the esophagus is making him salivate really horribly, I think part of it’s going into the lungs.

One of my friends is about to go to Germany and everyone’s there for her goodbye party, except me. I haven’t messaged her even though I want to… even though we’re not close. But I kept on thinking no one would notice I wasn’t there. Except, of course, my best friend… and this one guy. You know. But other than that, I am so exhausted, I can’t afford to smile at everyone and talk to them and act like nothing’s wrong, because to be honest, I want to break down every time I am reminded of the situation. I am home only once a week because I dorm near my med school, but every time I am actually home, I never fail to hear my mom cry from my room. People at that party will talk about their lives and how awesome they are. People don’t talk about their problems during parties.

I’m done being bitter. I’m halfway done being envious over people’s lifestyles. I can’t help but wonder sometimes how things would be for us if everything were normal. I’m almost 21. I should be having fun, but at the moment, I would much rather be asleep until all this is over. I did not choose this, but I love my family, and they come first.

It’s just really sad to think about how no one wants to jump in a sinking ship. Most of the time, you’re all alone. No one wants to get tangled up in your troubles. Maybe that’s why I have a weird fascination with shipwrecks. Because I am one.

The roommate post

Everyone must have this blog post, or at least, anyone who’s dorm-ed in college. Not everyone’s lucky to be showered with a wonderful roommate. I have two at the moment, and to be honest, one of them’s pretty awesome, the other one, though, has caused me and my family a bit of trouble. We were already talking about rooming together back then, and when my family paid for the condo rent and deposit, she backed out, which made our other prospective roommate back out, too. I talked to her and she told me she didn’t like it that I was making decisions all by myself, and all I could think about was that she would never pay for the rent or the deposit herself! Besides, the condo was a pretty good deal, it was new, and it was the best in the vicinity.

In the end, she decided to room with me anyway. WTF.

I still have seven to eight months with her, and I wish that if I ever had to look back at this post, I’d just laugh at it and think very differently.

For now, she can be annoying. Not as hell, but annoying. She’s not the leech queen, but she’s a faithful soldier.

  • She doesn’t do her own dishes.
  • Her period blood literally spilt on our sheets.
  • She didn’t bring her mattress on our first day because she was thinking of leeching on mine, because she thought I wasn’t sleeping in yet.
  • She got some of my hazelnut spread and told me the morning after.
  • She sets her alarm at four in the morning and snoozes until six. (Okay, an exaggeration, but you get my point).
  • She uses my study table.
  • She uses my books.
  • She charges her phone on my extension cord.
  • She didn’t want to buy her own mobile wifi back then and now she plans on leeching on mine.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? I wish I didn’t talk to her and convince her to room with me, but back then, we were pretty desperate. My family pretty much panicked because we couldn’t afford to pay the rent all by ourselves. AKA, we really needed my roommates. I wish I just didn’t talk to her in the first place, because now, my best friend from high school just got accepted into the hospital we live near in, and I JUST LET GO OF THE CHANCE TO BE ROOMMATES WITH MY BEST FRIEND FOR THE LEECH SOLDIER.

Great. Just great.

Now I understand why I used to hate Instagram so much

It’s partly because of a blog post of this girl who said we showcase the side of ourselves what we want to show to the world on Instagram. In truth, I used to think it was for people who had things to show off. Ever notice how poor people don’t have Instagram? People who live in mountains of garbage, people whose swimming pools are canals or bays of litter and human waste? Plus, what would they use to ‘Instagram that sh*t?’ Nothing. They could barely have three meals a day. They survive by re-cooking people’s left-overs. They can’t afford an iPhone.

We’re somewhere in between. We’re not poor but we’re not rich. From time to time we can afford nice things, but lately, not so much, because all our money has been drained on hospital bills. I just graduated from a school considered elite in the country, and I do thank God for that. I’ve seen the lifestyles of the richest of the rich from where I live, and I admit, there was a time I wished I was one of them, but I’m also so close to the poorest of the poor.

Dad had a seizure again just last Friday, and you have the permission to slap me, because the thought of my peers’ Friday nights crossed my mind. I dreaded Friday nights. In fact, I’m starting to dread weekends, because on weekends, I stay home, and I’m reminded once again of all our problems, while my friends think Fridays are the best part of the week, and I’m reminded of why on Instagram.

They Instagram their dates, their drinks, the movies they watched. What should I post? I’m stuck reading my Physiology book beside my father who can’t stop coughing and spitting out cancer. Am I supposed to put a filter on that? Or on the picture of me being forced to pray the rosary while I have a different idea of how to pray? Should I post on Instagram my and my father’s first ambulance ride? My father convulsing and seizing? Chanel bags get a lot more followers. But Chanel bags aren’t reality.

The upside with this is that I don’t wish Chanel bags were my reality. Not anymore. Although sometimes, I do occasionally think how glamorous it would be to just reincarnate as Paris Hilton’s dog. If you’ve been reading my previous posts, you must know I don’t have a good relationship with my father. I’ve wished things would happen that I don’t really mean, just so it would end my suffering. He represented a lot of problems in our family, and I used to believe he was the root of them.

But when he was convulsing, seizing and gasping for air like that, it was like I was in the middle of flipping a coin. I knew what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want him to die, I didn’t want him gone. Not right there, like that. It would be an injustice to me. I would forever be haunted by the fact that I didn’t even try to settle things between us. To tell him what I really felt. To have my biggest, deepest wish ungranted because I didn’t do anything about it. At the same time, I’m still a coward. I’m scared things won’t turn out the way I want them to if I actually did try to go out of my usual way to confront him. We just don’t do confrontations.

I just hope, like always, that this time changes things. That there are lessons learned. That he won’t be who he was before. That he will realize things he should’ve a long time ago. We’re already so emotionally and financially drained, I don’t think I can afford to lose anything else at this point.

P.S. On a lighter note, there are a lot of cute nurses and doctors at the hospital. Sign me up for residency, please.

July 15 Blog Post

I’m alone in the condo as of writing. Both my roommates went home for the typhoon, even though it’s not raining at all, so I’m on FART-ALL-YOU-CAN mode. I went out with friends since exams were finally (!) over, came home late, parents refused to pick me up, so I’m stuck with no internet. I’m writing this on a document program as we speak, and I’m just realizing how I really like writing to hash my thoughts out. It’s a great way for introverts to express themselves. I guess it’s because this allows for a lot of organization and modification, and as an introvert, I like being careful about what I say. The anonymity of this WordPress blog helps, too, which is why I created it in the first place (to vent and rant, but spreading negativity all the time sucks, too).

And as an introvert, I painfully think over what I did and said, over-think, get drained and fall asleep. Energy is wasted on over-thinking. It literally fatigues me.

Anyway, I’m just thinking how it sucks how people you tend to like don’t have a hamartia. I love that word – fatal flaw. In this case, it’s the thing that defines why you shouldn’t like a certain person. The people you tend to fall in love with doesn’t have a hamartia, and it’s most of the time due to you and your point-of-view of him or her. It will take an event which bruises your ego for you to see that that person’s not so perfect after all.

Of medical school, I just wish I won’t fail in the exams. Leave over-achieving to the future – med school is a killer. I don’t know where I went wrong this time – I read in advance, I studied my notes. But my absorption of information sometimes has a point of saturation, which forces me to just give up altogether. Time to try a different strategy next time.